Beneath the Dawn
by T. F. Crosby
Summary: He knew he had to rescue those kids. No matter what. But despite his knowledge, what Donald Davenport failed to see was that the one who truly needed rescuing was his brother. /Whole family involved and then some/
1. Prologue

I probably shouldn't start posting this yet, but I'm really excited for this story. Like my other story "Dragon," this one's Douglas-centric, and focuses on his relationships with the whole family. As the story progresses more of his and Chase's relationship will come into focus. This story will deal with mental illness and other medical conditions later on. There will also be major character deaths. Chapter one will begin in "Bionic Showdown." There will be more on that when I get chapter one up. I have been doing extensive research on mental illnesses and their effects. Much of this is inspired by the personal story of Nick Traina (from the band Link 80), the son of author Danielle Steel.

If any of you lovely readers have any questions, feel free to PM me. Now on with the story.

 ** _Beneath the Dawn_**

Prologue

Donald Davenport always knew that there was something seriously wrong with his younger brother. Neither of them had been typical children, but Douglas's atypical behavior went beyond what would be considered normal even for them. While he had begun talking in complete coherent sentences at a younger age than most children, Douglas had accomplished the feat at an even younger age. They were both little charmers in their own right, but Douglas always had the edge – and not because he was younger. There is something very different about him, something… Wrong. Whenever either of them would become obsessed with something – whether it was a certain superhero, sport, or whatever – Douglas would take it to the extreme. He would be solely obsessed with that one thing for years. His room would be filled with anything pertaining to his obsession; from Spiderman to _Star Wars_ to far more disturbing things. And those "disturbing" things came long before the idea of bionics ever manifested itself in either of their minds. It wasn't the thing itself that was so disturbing, it was Douglas's obsession with it. Most of his obsessions were with the normal things that fascinated most boys their ages: comic books, sports, TV shows, video games. But this particular obsession would last for most of his life. It would grow and mature along with him. And while Donald would never openly admit it to anyone – including himself – it scared him.

No one was sure how or why this obsession manifested itself. The two of them had been fascinated with the classic movie monsters; Dracula; the Mummy; Frankenstein's monster; as well as zombies and other creepy creatures. Douglas, however, took it much further than some boyhood enthrallment. He became obsessed with darkness and death. Not his own or anyone else's, just death in general. He had made hundreds of drawings in black and other dark colors of people killing each other, blood dripping from severed limbs, swords drawn or plunged into people, arrows sticking out of them. Fortunately, that would be gone by the time Douglas turned eight and his obsession with _Star Wars_ would begin, something far more benign. It was when he was in sixth grade that his demons truly began to surface.

Douglas had his serious mood swings that would last for months. He would be angry and spiteful for a while, consistently, then irritable and uncontrollable and then finally he would be sweet, kind and loving – the Douglas that Donald new was the true Douglas. Donald couldn't deny the fact that he could be full of self, even then. There were times he cared only about himself, others feelings didn't matter; but Douglas would take it too far, almost turning it into an art form. He sometimes found his little brother's antics amusing, like the time he effectively blocked the driveway with the skateboard ramp he had built himself. Douglas lived in his own world, a world that was all about.

And then… One of the worst possible thing that could happen to their family took place.

When Douglas was ten, something happened to their father at his job. Donald never could figure out exactly what had occurred, but it changed the man – for the worse. Everything changed. The dynamics of their family were destroyed. Douglas had always been difficult and his obstinateness only escalated when their father changed. Despite it all, Douglas never hurt anyone, physically. He may have spouted off insults with the acidic wit that he had, but he never hurt anyone or anything. And despite their father's change, the man never laid a hand on them, no matter how angry he got. Although, there were times when Donald was sure the man wanted to beat them both.. He would become violent – which Donald owed to his excessive drinking – throwing things and abusing them verbally. _Especially Douglas_. These episodes would occur when Douglas was in his happy, loving state – his normal state. It was then that Donald made the promise to always protect his little brother from their father. A promise that he quickly broke. He hated himself for it and had tried to make up for it once Douglas got out of the house and far away from their parents. However, it would turn into an epic fail. He should have dug deeper, worked harder to find out what was so wrong with his brother. No one else believed there was anything wrong with him, not even their mother. But he had so badly wanted out, that he left his brother behind.

They made a temporary reconciliation and began "Davenport Industries." It was the beginning of bionic technology and the beginning of the end of their relationship. It wasn't meant to be used on human beings – or any form of life. But they tried it, anyway. _Subjects A, B, and C_. That title change fairly quick. It sounded too weird to both of them. These _subjects_ were children. They needed actual names. And since Douglas was the one who had so enthusiastically donated his DNA, he got first pick on names. He insisted on Chase. Donald let him have that one; but because he was part of the project, _he_ insisted on at least having a say in naming the two older ones. Douglas reluctantly agreed and they easily agreed on Adam, since the boy was the first – _and a boy_. It made perfect sense to them. However, for the little girl, a week-long argument ensued. From Bethany to Bronwyn, they finally decided – and agreed-upon, Bree. Douglas then gave her the nickname "Breezy;" which ended up being rather appropriate.

During those first five years of the project, for reasons Donald could never figure out, Douglas's behavior patterns from their childhood and youth were minimal. He was still difficult and temperamental, but he didn't exude the major and long-lasting mood swings. Donald was happy at the possibility that his younger brother had grown out of whatever had plagued him for all those years. Yet, far into the back of his mind, it scared him. By the time Chase was a toddler, Donald began to notice his brother reverting back to his old behaviors. It was subtle at first. Little things, revolving around the project.

Then it happened. Donald had no idea what had been going on his brother's head during those six years. What he had feared most for his brother was coming to fruition. Douglas's deep seeded obsessions were back. This time, however, it had the potential to become utterly destructive. Douglas was now obsessed with _the perfect soldier_. He had to be stopped. Looking back on it, it wasn't the smartest move; but Donald forced him to leave. And it nearly backfired. Two months after he was let go, Douglas managed to make his way back to the labs, take the kids and disappear. While Donald didn't fear for their lives, he still had to find them and it would take almost four months before it dawned on him where Douglas had taken them. _Their old home_.

He always knew there was something horribly wrong with his younger brother. But that wasn't going to get in his way this time. He knew he had to rescue those kids. Yet, despite knowing that something was horribly wrong with his Douglas, what Donald Davenport failed to see was at the one who truly needed rescuing was his brother.

 _ **LabRats**_

Hope this piqued your interest.


	2. Chapter One: Disconnection

_Finally! The first (actual) chapter is done. It only took me forever and a minute. Hopefully, the remaining chapters won't take this long. Yearly updates are not beneficial to the story. I couldn't figure out how to wrap this chapter up. I didn't want it to be exactly like "Bionic Showdown" but have some similarities._

 _So… here it is._

Chapter One: Disconnection

Silence was often a welcome visitor in his small part of the world. At this moment, however, the silence that filled his corner of the universe was deafening – and he didn't like it. It was too quiet. _Horribly quiet_. Grabbing his tablet, he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. He pulled up one of the many music playlists he had made over the last two months. It was a rather eclectic list, made up of every song that fit with his current mood; some were quite funny. There was one song, however, one song that seemed to know him, know exactly how he felt about certain people in his life.

As the first song began to play, he began to snicker. It was one of the few songs that made him happy. _Come on…: How can cyborg robot squirrels not make you happy?_ He should really look into that; it might actually be fun. _Nope, nope, nope. Don't need that. No cyborg robot squirrels._

He rubbed his face vigorously as the next song began to play. It was a good song; it made him feel good…in a bizarre kind of way. A normal person wouldn't consider it a feel-good song; but then again, he'd never been accused of being normal, or abnormal, really. Regardless, the song fit him. He did walk alone, despite all that he had created; he had walked alone for years and it was just fine with him. He didn't need anyone, which was just as well. Sometimes, he felt like a monster. _Heh_. _How apropos to be thinking just that when that very song comes on_.

There were a few songs on that list that gave him a rather sadistic satisfaction. He was sure the songs were not necessarily intended for that purpose, but he had looked up their meaning and thought the explanations were rather intriguing. It did make sense; even in a logical way. Regardless of how he chose to interpret it, the music was always soothing. Sometimes, unconsciously, the words to the songs would feed the darkness within him. He didn't choose to allow that feeding to occur, it just happened. Far too often his "special songs" simply added fuel to an already raging fire within his darkened soul.

If only he could make someone else hurt just like he hurt; a freakish mix of pain and madness. No one understood. No one cared to understand. He knew he couldn't force that apperception into anyone's mind. _Psychology_. Funny how he often found himself psychoanalyzing…well, himself. He huffed. Sure, he could be hateful. _A lot_. And most of the time he didn't mind being that way. It was rather refreshing.

He closed his eyes, soaking in the next song. And there it was. _That song_. _Open wounds_. That was all his father and brother gave him. Even his mother after a time. There were times when just thinking about them filled him with hate. He wanted to hate them, but….

 _His father_. Loathing erupted within him at the thought of the man. He stood up from his chair, laying the tablet back on the desk. The man had dominated his life since he was twelve, subtle at first, and even after his death his father seemed to have a certain power over him. It was that which truly filled him with hate; hate that he was so desperately needing to unleash. And his brother, the brother that had broken a promise made over twenty-five years ago; a promise never fulfilled. It was no ordinary promise, no "piecrust promise;" yet his older brother managed to break it almost as soon as he made it. And the then fourteen-year-old Douglas Davenport was left to the mercy of their father.

He stared at the large glowing target on the dark wall in front of him. Time for a little game. A small blue ball lay in the center of a round platform about the width of the basketball at the foot of the desk. He had found handball to be a great stress reliever – when played properly. Of course, his definition of "properly" wasn't quite the same as those who made the rules. "Follow the rules" was not exactly part of his vocabulary. Unless, he was the one making them. He grabbed the gloves that were laying on the platform and put them on, then picked up the ball. The one thing he loved most about making the rules – he could change them whenever and however he wanted. They were his rules to bend or break. And he loved to do both. He sighed heavily as the next song began to play. It brought out a lot of contempt for both his father and mother, and even his brother. He squeezed the ball tightly in his hand as he stepped up to a thin blue line on the floor, ten and a half feet from the target on the wall. The glowing red bull's-eye seemed to mock him.

 _Go ahead, Dougie. Try and hit me._

Bouncing the ball high, a sneer crossed his face, followed by a deep throated growl. As the ball came back into his line of sight he slammed it with the palm of his right hand into the target – missing the center.

The red solid circle continued to mock him. _What's wrong, Dougie? You out of practice?_

The ball came back to his left and he hit it back, a grunt escaping his throat.

 _You can't get me, can you?_

"Shut up," he growled, hitting the ball back. It bounced off the green ring around the bull's-eye.

It laughed.

"Don't laugh at me," he seethed, as the ball came towards his face. He reared back, almost dropping to the ground.

 _You're a loser, Douglas._

Hitting the ball too high, it bounced off the outermost ring of the target.

 _You'll never win._ It laughed again.

"Don't mock me!"

Three more times the ball came back to him and three more times he missed the red glowing bull's-eye that relentlessly mocked him. Anger was building up inside of him.

 _Get angry, Douglas. Release it. Show everyone who you really are._

"No," he screamed. "I will defeat you."

 _Hit me!_

He reared back again, hitting the ball with everything he had – and with deadly accuracy. The ball slammed into the bull's-eye. "You'll never beat me," he seethed quietly as the ball gently bounce towards him and then came to a roll, passing him.

 _I already have_ , he heard it laugh as the target shut down.

The ball rolled across the floor, stopping at a black-shoed foot. A hand reached down and picked it up. The hand brought the ball up to the face of a teenage boy, a very un-ordinary teenage boy. He looked at the man standing at the other end of the room.

The boy walked towards him, hearing the man say in a growl under his breath, "I said shut up."

The boy smirked. "Talking to your imaginary friend again… Dad?"

Douglas stood perfectly still, not turning his attention to his "son," a twisted smirk crossing his lips, followed by a soft, humorless chuckle.

"Marcus." He turned to face the boy with an eerie, gleeful smile on his face that made the boy shudder slightly. "So… How'd it go? How's my big brother?" Douglas gave him a mock frown. "Did he put up a fight?"

"Too easy," Marcus replied, smirking. He walked over to the desk set against the north wall and dropped into the chair. Swiveling back and forth he said, "he really misses you." Douglas could hear the sarcasm loud and clear and it made him smile, a genuine, yet somewhat sadistic, smile. Marcus took little notice and continued. "Would you like to hear what happened?"

"Oh, what the hell. Why not?" He plopped into the chair he had been seated in earlier and stared intently at the boy.

Marcus made his – _fortieth?_ – mental note on how weird the man could be. There was something seriously wrong with him. But since he really didn't care, he began his story.

* * *

 _Donald Davenport stood at the desk busily running his fingers over the controls. The kids were still at school, so he had ample time to do what he needed to do without being interrupted, annoyed, irritated, etc._

 _"Hey, Eddie. Run a diagnostic on Adam's capsule." There was no response. "Eddie." He turned around to look at Eddie's screen. "Eddie?" His screen was blank. So were the security screens. Strange._

 _He was about to check the security system when he heard footsteps. They were unfamiliar, but he knew who they belong to. "Shouldn't you be at school?"_

 _"Nah. My dad let me ditch."_

 _Donald turned around. "Hello, Marcus."_

 _"Hello, Mr. Davenport. I've heard so much about you." He gave Donald a pleasantly, creepy smile._

 _They stared at each other. "I would ask how you got in here…."_

 _"But that's pretty obvious."_

 _Donald furrowed his brow. "What are you?"_

 _The teenager's creepy smile grew bigger. "Let's just say… Leo's on the right track."_

 _Keeping as calm as he could, Donald replied, "what are you doing here?"_

 _"Just bringing special greetings from my dad. And yes, you know him very well." He paused as the man stiffened. "Or at least as well as any big brother who turned his back on his baby brother would."_

 _Donald eyes widened. No, it can't be._

 _Marcus's creepy smile kept going. "Oh, yes. Douglas wants to know, 'how ya doin', big brother?'"_

* * *

Douglas threw his head back, laughing giddily. "Please, tell me you got a picture of the look on his face."

Marcus grinned. "Of course, I did. Couldn't pass that up." He pulled out his phone and showed Douglas the picture. The man laughed through his teeth.

"Send that to my phone." He let out a happy sigh.

As Douglas stood, the teen noticed his demeanor turn a one-eighty. But Marcus had become accustomed to his often bizarre mood changes and behavior and brushed it aside. _The man must have some kind of mental illness,_ he thought.

"Where'd you leave him?"

"He's hanging out in your special laser pen," Marcus said with a smirk.

"Good. Keep an eye out for your friends."

As Douglas left the room, Marcus turned to the monitor behind him. "Yeah… That statement wasn't oozing with sarcasm."

* * *

Donald scanned the room as he walked around in his _cage_. The poles hummed, sounding almost like a light saber. With that thought, it probably wasn't a good idea to touch it. There was very little in the room, other than the giant holding pen he was in, a desk and chair with the laptop laying on the desk and what looked like a large archery target on the west wall. There was no telling what his little brother had been up to these past twelve years.

"What have you been up to, Douglas?"

"Oh, not too terribly much."

Donald turned towards the room's entrance. There he stood. His baby brother, a twisted smile on his face. "You look no worse for wear."

"Yeah, well… Despite everything, I try to take decent care of myself." He walked up to the cage, the twisted smile disappearing, replaced by the soft, gentle expression in his hazel eyes that Donald had known so well. "In case you were wondering all these years… Finally got a diagnosis." He started his brother. "I'm bipolar."

Donald expression fell. "Bipolar," Donald said under his breath. "I should have figured that out."

Douglas glared angrily, his eyes becoming cold. "Damn right, you should have." He turned around and walked a few feet away before turning back. "But… I forgive you." That eerily jovial tone returned. "Forcing me to leave allowed the genius in me to flourish."

"Genius?" Donald scoffed. "More like insanity."

His little brother grinned at him. "Well, there is a fine line between genius and insanity."

"And you managed to cross that line."

Douglas glared at him angrily again. Then a sly grin began to creep across his face. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?"

Donald pursed his lips.

"Oh, come on," his brother continued gleefully as he walked over to the chair and sat down. "It was funny."

"What do you want, Douglas?"

"I want what rightfully belongs with me."

"What rightfully belongs with you?"

Douglas wiggled his finger in his ear. "Wow… That was kinda echoey."

"Adam, Bree and Chase don't belong with you."

"They're my kids and you stole them," Douglas shouted bitterly.

"You wanted to turn them into weapons," his older brother shouted back. "I was protecting them from you!"

Douglas shot up out of the chair, shouting as he walked furiously towards his brother. "Just like you protected me from Dad." Donald's breath hitched in his throat. "You broke your promise!" Douglas took a deep breath and continued more calmly, pointing at his brother, "you lied to me. You… You lied to me."

Donald had no reply. His brother was right. He watched Douglas drop back down into the chair and spin around to the computer that sat on the desk, mumbling, "you have no idea what I wanted."

The clicks of the keys echoed through the room. The older Davenport watched in silence, trying to figure out what his brother was up to. His eyes widened in awe as he watched a series of panels on the wall fold-down, revealing a rather sophisticated computer system.

"How about a little music, big brother?" He didn't wait for any kind of reply, pulling up his favorite playlist. "So," Douglas continued as the music began, "what little white lies have you told the kids?" He spun back around. "What's wrong, Donnie? Little kitty cat got your tongue?"

Donald remained quiet.

"Haven't set a damned thing about me to them, have you?"

His older brother stared hard at him. "No, I haven't."

Douglas had an almost content expression on his face. "Figures. You tend to have issues with telling the truth. Especially, when it really matters."

"You have the same issues, little brother," Donald spat.

"Hmm…. Yeah, I do. I've got a lota secrets." He leaned forward, staring at his brother with a deadpan expression. "I have secrets you wouldn't believe."

Those words made Donald shudder. What on earth was his brother hiding?

Silence fell between them as the music continued to play. Whatever had been wrong with his brother was still there; something that went beyond bipolar disorder. Douglas seem to be worse. Donald knew there had to be a crap load of stuff his brother wasn't telling him. He wouldn't be surprised if Douglas had even more bionic children. He sighed. His brother wasn't going to divulge any more information at the moment, so he stood there, in his cage, silently wishing he had a chair. He sighed – loudly.

Douglas stopped what he was doing. Without turning around, he said, "really?"

"Yes, really," Donald replied flatly.

"Nothing satisfies you, does it?"

Donald had the urge to stick his tongue out at him; but before he had the chance to consider the childish retort any further, his thoughts were interrupted by footsteps and then a voice.

"They're here."

Douglas turned slightly to face Marcus. "Well… I suppose you should go welcome them."

Marcus smiled with wild eyes and promptly left.

"You better not hurt them," Donald shouted after him.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, Donnie," Douglas said, sounding nonchalant, "he's not gonna hurt them." Grinning to himself he continued, "I'm sure they'll all cause equal damage."

Donald furrowed his brow. "Equal damage?"

"What? Don't you have any confidence in _your kids?"_ Douglas didn't hold back in his bitterness.

Donald sighed. It was futile arguing with Douglas. Always had been. The man was the most stubborn person he had ever known. Although, Chase could come in a close second when he wanted to. Stubbornness was proving to be a family trait. He hoped bipolar disorder wouldn't. Donald could see it in his brother's eyes; the pain, the anguish, the… fear. That was shocking. He wasn't expecting to see it, see the fear. Not in his _little brother's_ eyes. He sighed again. All he could do now was wait.

Aside from Douglas's interesting choice of music playing, all was quiet. Donald had decided to take a seat on the floor, while his brother did whatever he was doing on his laptop. The sound of thundering footsteps broke through the silence – well, music – pulling Donald to his feet. Douglas hadn't so much as flinched at the sound. He swore his younger brother had every little piece of this planned. Even what was about to happen next. He glanced at the doorway, then back at his brother. _Gone._

Donald stared at the empty chair, stunned. "What the – where did he go?"

"Mr. Davenport!" Chase's voice drew his gaze back to the door.

The three teens rushed in, coming to a screeching halt in front of the glowing blue bars that encompassed their mentor. Before Davenport could utter a response, Adam piped, "did you lose?"

Devonport furrowed his brow. "Lose at what?"

"The target game," Adam replied, pointing behind him.

He glanced back at the large target on the wall and grimaced. "No. I didn't lose the target game. I didn't play any game."

"Yeah, you prob'ly would've lost, anyway."

Devonport grimaced again.

"What?"

Bree and Chase rolled their eyes.

"Anyway," Chase growled, "we took care of Marcus. Now we can get you outta here."

Chase frowned at Davenport's seemingly unimpressed expression. "That's great, but I have the feeling things aren't what they seem around here."

"What you mean?"

"Look, there's a lot more going on here than you realize."

The three teens looked at each other. "Is there something you're not telling us, Mr. Davenport?" Bree asked.

Chase looked at him uneasily. "Mr. Davenport?"

Before he could reply, his brother returned. "Well, would you look at this, the whole family's together again."

The three teenagers turned around to face the new arrival. "Mr. Davenport, who's that?" Bree said.

"Oh, Donnie… I'm hurt. You never told them about me?" His little brother was rather exceptional at acting. At least, around him. Douglas's red-hot anger and contempt he had taken out on him earlier was replaced by a pseudo-sarcasm. "Hey, kids. I'm your father."

They slowly turned back to Donald, all in disbelief. Glancing back at Douglas, Bree said, "you're not our father, he is."

For a brief moment Douglas locked eyes with his youngest before he turned back to the computer behind him. "It's amazing where lies can get you."

Adam furrowed his brow. "I don't care who you are. Yer goin' down."

"Is that so?" Douglas turned a small, square object between his fingers, turning around just as the oldest bionic lunged for them. He pressed a small button on the object, as he pointed it at the three teens. In an instant, they were in the cage with Donald.

"You mastered short range teleportation," the other Davenport shouted. "I've been working on that for years."

"Oh, would you stop whining," Douglas replied. "You do this every time someone beats you to the punch." He glared at his brother. "Especially, if it's me."

"Yer still goin' down," Adam shouted, grabbing the poles. "Ow!"

"Yeah… You might wanna avoid touching those." Adam growled at the voice and the four in the cage looked towards the doorway. Marcus stood, leaning against the frame, smirking. "The perimeter's secured. Even if the tigers manage to get out of their cage, they won't get out of this house."

"Good," Douglas said flatly.

Adam growled again. "That's it." He quickly fell silent. "My super-strength." He looked at his siblings. "It's gone."

Bree tested her superspeed. "So's my speed," she said in a slight panic.

Focusing as hard as he could, but to no avail, Chase uttered, "I got nothin'."

"That's because I designed the lasers to block the signals from your bionic chips." Douglas stared at them, deadpan. "Daddy gave you toys… And he can also take them away."

"You're insane," Chase said flatly.

"Insanity is relative," Douglas replied. "It all depends on who has who locked in what cage." He turned to his android son. "Let's go. We have work to do."

Stopping at his laptop, he hit a sequence of keys, sending the panels back into their previous positions. The four Davenports in the cage watched in defeat as their remote chance of escape disappeared into the wall. Douglas closed his laptop and picked it up. He knew better than to leave anything to chance. Giving his brother one last glare, he and Marcus walked out.

The room was silent for a moment. The three bionic teens looked at their 'father.'

"Mr. Davenport, why did that guy say he was our father?" Bree asked.

Donald sighed heavily, realizing he had no choice but to tell them the truth. "Because technically, he is your father. And he's also my brother."

"What?" Adam coughed out.

"How is that even possible?" Bree said.

"Years ago, Douglas and I started Devonport Industries. We had something of a falling out a few years prior, and we hadn't talk to each other until he found his way to my apartment. We reconciled and started our business together."

"What happened between you two?" Chase asked a bit cautiously.

"That's not important right now." Donald paused for a moment. "For a while it was great. We developed the bionic technology for robots to aid soldiers in war zones and even rescue workers in places too dangerous for them to go. To help… Keep them from getting killed. I don't know for certain, but Douglas got it into his head to create genetically engineered humans."

"You mean us," Adam said.

"Yeah. Your chips were never designed to be interfaced with the human nervous system."

"So that's why we glitch," Chase stated.

"Exactly."

"Oh…" Adam began, "all these years I thought it was just because yer a terrible scientist."

Donald grimaced at the comment but continued with his explanation. "Douglas also hid all kinds of secret codes in your chips. That's why you have all these mysterious new abilities popping up."

"So, if your brother created us," Bree began, "how did we end up with you?"

He hesitated before answering, hoping the brief half-truth answer would suffice. "He wanted to turn you into cyber soldiers of mass destruction. But I thought if I could raise you in a safe environment, I could train you to be heroes. So, I built the lab and hid you there."

However, his answer wasn't good enough; not for his youngest. "You didn't answer the question," Chase said flatly.

Donald opened his mouth to speak, but only silence filled the room.

"Tell us what happened, Mr. Davenport," Chase demanded.

Ready to rebuke the bionic teen's remark, he was interrupted by his little brother's voice, his snarky tone.

"Yeah, Donnie. Tell them what happened that night."

They all turned to see Douglas, once again, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. Donald stayed silent as he stared at his brother. He knew no matter what he said or didn't say it wouldn't go well. He knew he was wrong to do what he did to his brother, but he wouldn't admit it. Not to himself, not to anyone. He couldn't. He had a legitimate excuse to justify what he had done; how he had sent his people in to get Adam, Bree and Chase. _To kidnap them_. He should have gone with them to get the kids.

"Tell them, brother," Douglas shouted, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking towards them. "Tell them the truth about that night. Tell them how you couldn't even come yourself."

Adam looked at Donald. "What does he mean, you couldn't come yourself?"

Donald kept quiet. His brother huffed, shaking his head. "Or is it more like… _Wouldn't?_ " Douglas said, trying his best not to yell obscenities at his older brother. "Oh, but you did observe everything through that video feed." The elder Davenport stiffened. Douglas gave him a snide smirk and continued. "Oh, yeah. I know all about your little livestream. Watching one of your goons," his voice began to elevate, "rip Chase right out of my arms, kicking and screaming for me!" He turned, walking a few feet away before turning back to face _his_ kids. In a soft, almost sorrowful voice he said, "you may not remember that night… But I'll _never_ forget it."

He quietly left the room, leaving the remaining four Davenports in stunned silence.

* * *

Smoke curled up around the ceiling fan from the cigarette clenched tightly between Douglas's fingers.

"I thought you quit," Marcus said to his father as he leaned against the bar between the kitchen and dining room.

"I didn't," he replied. "Just smoke less often than I did before."

"Right… Only when you're irritated about something."

Douglas grimaced and took another drag of his cigarette.

Marcus folded his arms across his chest. "Okay, I can handle the smoking. I just wish you stop your drinking spurts. That's not helping any."

"You know I'm trying my damnedest to stop…."

"I know, I know." Marcus paused briefly, then continued, "so what's the next –"

A loud crash interrupted his thought. They walked over to the security monitor in the den. "Oh, for cryin' out loud," Douglas groaned, finishing off the cigarette. "Get rid of him before he destroys everything."

Marcus stared at the screen that now showed his "Uncle Donnie's" stepson, Leo; the very Leo he had been tormenting for the past couple months. Sure, it was mean, but it was fun.

"And while you're at it," his father continued, "melt that little red wagon of weapons."

He smirked. "Any particular reason?"

"Yeah. They belong to my brother."

* * *

"Is what Douglas said true?" Chase asked eerily monotone.

Donald sighed, looking at the floor.

"Mr. Davenport?"

He looked up at the three of them. "Yes, Chase. It's true."

All three looked to him in disbelief. "I don't believe this," Adam said, shaking his head.

"You lied to us," Bree added. "Why?"

"I did it to protect you."

Chase remained silent as his two older siblings bombarded Davenport with questions. As the questions escalated into bickering, Chase finally spoke. "I wanna see it." The other three quieted. "I wanna see the tape. I know you had to've record everything." Chase glared at his 'uncle.' "When we get out of here, I want to see that tape."

"Chase, I don't even know if that thing still exists," Donald responded. "That was over ten years ago."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Davenport," Adam began, "you keep everything. What about that ratted stuffed tiger you carry around when you sleepwalk?"

Donald huffed "I do not sleepwalk. And my tiger is not ratted. He' just tired out from all his – look, I don't know where that tape is. I didn't even watch all of it."

"Maybe you should've," Chase retorted.

"That's enough, Chase."

"I hate to say this," Bree said, "but I agree with Chase."

"Me, too," Adam added. "What are we agreeing on?"

Before anyone could answer, Douglas returned to the lab, laptop in hand. Without so much as a word or a glance in their direction, he placed his laptop on the desk, hooked it up to one of the panels, and opened it. As he began punching keys, his older brother spoke.

"What're you doing?"

"Letting you go," Douglas replied flatly.

The caged four looked at each other, astonished. "Why?" Bree asked.

"Because I feel like it, Princess. That's why." As the cage disappeared, he added, "get out."

The four stood silently, unsure of how to react to Douglas's sudden 'change of heart.'

He whipped around, shouting angrily, "I said get out."

Donald sighed. "Let's go, guys."

They hesitated. "I'm giving you the chance to leave unharmed," Douglas said calmly. "I suggest you take it."

Looking back at the three teenagers, Donald repeated, "let's go, guys."

As they began to walk out, a loud cracking sound echoed through the room. "What the…." Douglas sputtered as something large and heavy came crashing through the ceiling. They all covered their faces, protecting themselves from flying debris. "Are you kidding me," Douglas said as the group stared down the large robot that now stood before them.

The robot emitted a voice, a very familiar voice, as the last of the debris fell to the ground. "Exoskeleton in the house! Or whatever you call this funky place."

"Leo?" Chase siad in disbelief.

"Dad!" Marcus rushed into the room. "We got a prob–" he stopped abruptly. "Nevermind."

"How do you like me now, Marcus?" Leo called triumphantly.

The teenager shrugged. "Eh."

Leo frowned at his response. "So…" Leo continued, "why y'all just standing there?"

"Douglas let us go," Donald replied.

Leo furrowed his brow. "Really?"

"Yes, really," the other adult Davenport brother replied. "Now get outta here before I do something we'll all regret."

A sudden laser discharge erupted from the exoskeleton, hitting the panel next to Douglas and sending sparks flying.

"Oops." Leo grinned sheepishly.

Another blast fired from the exoskeleton, this time getting a little too close to Bree and hitting the far-right panel, causing an internal power surge, now snaking its way through the system to the hidden main core in the floor beneath them. "Leo," Donald shouted.

Marcus sped over to the malfunctioning robot suit, knocking it over. Leo tried to get up, but to no avail.

"This thing can bust through walls and shoot lasers, but I can't get up," Leo said accusingly.

"Well, it is a prototype," Donald replied.

"What part of get out are you not comprehending," Douglas growled.

The three bionic teens ran over to their brother as Marcus made his way to his father, growling in much the same way as Douglas did. "You're actually letting them go?"

Douglas looked at his brother, and almost pleading look in his eyes. "Get out now."

Something wasn't right. Donald stared at his younger brother for a moment. Douglas knew what was about to happen, whatever it was. He looked back at the teens behind him. Leo was out of the exoskeleton. "Let's get out of here."

As they rushed out, Marcus glared at his father in anger. "How could you let them leave? We had them."

"We'll get them later," Douglas replied calmly. He stepped away from the control panels, backing up towards the door. The panels were popping and spitting sparks angrily into the air. Time was running out. "We hafta get outta here."

He turned to Marcus. His cyber-humanoid creation was furious. And now a lost cause. The android was forcing nearly every app – power – into use at once, aiding in the labs meltdown. Marcus was completely out of control. He was on the verge of bringing the entire house down on top of himself. Douglas was not interested in dying at that moment, so he simply walked out, leaving the android to his self-destruction. Besides, there was someone he promised he would go see. _And he kept his promises._

 **LabRats**

 _A bit dark, I suppose. I wrote this in such a way to keep the option open for there being a real Marcus, not just the android. I'm still batting the idea around. If anyone would really like there to be a real Marcus, I'll put him in. I have ideas that can go either way. From here on out, I won't be writing in any actual episodes, "Avalanche" being an exception, but touching on some that involved Douglas. I hope to keep most of the ideas completely original from the show, which of course means it will get dark. It will eventually flow into "Elite Force," but the story will remain posted in the Lab Rats 2012 section._

 _Enough of my blather. Hope you enjoyed it._

 _And remember, be lovely to each other._


End file.
